The Far Off Hymn
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: Tag for The Shrine. Keller can't sleep. McKeller.


**Disclaimer**: MGM has an amazing operation. I have... a computer?

**Spoilers: **The Shrine.

**Description:** Tag for The Shrine. Keller can't sleep. McKeller.

**Warnings: **Nothing I can think of.

**A/N**: This sort of just happened. Nowhere near as dark as "Devil's Arcade," for those who prefer lighter pieces. I think this qualifies.

As always, I greatly appreciate feedback, so do me a favor and leave me a review with your thoughts. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy.

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**The Far-Off Hymn  
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She was used to bad dreams. Everybody had them. What she wasn't used to was sleep's shadows following her out of the slipstream.

The black outlines of inanimate objects seemed to conspire. The dull hum of the city sounded as Morse code for the hidden damned. And as time passed, her memory of fiends did not.

The sheets were drawn up to her chin, like when she was a child, the ends tucked underneath her so that it formed a cocoon. She was too disturbed for it to feel ridiculous. You just don't think like that when the terror's got you.

Him, swallowed whole by madness, left to waste away in the ground. It was burned into her mind's eye. She thought about Elvis, and wished she could blow a hole in it. But it remained. Not taunting her, just confusing her; it was saying to her brain: this is a fact, and he's gone.

But he wasn't. He remained. Fast asleep, and alive, two hallways down from where her tired mind was mourning him.

That's all there was to it. He was alive. Not dead. And she had nothing to fear from demons born in a Hell of cognitions' making.

She laid there for another twenty minutes or so, trembling slightly, willing sleep to purge untruths and earn her trust anew. It didn't, though. It hung above and out of reach. She wanted so badly to cry.

In desperation, she thought back over her life, humbly remembering the things which soothed her in days long gone.

When she was in high school, she'd stare at the flame of a candle. That worked on and off, but not when times were worst.

When she was in middle school, she'd go downstairs and sleep on the floor beside the dog. That usually worked. She loved that dog.

When she was younger, about six or eight, and her parents were both working the night shift, Miss Adriel from next door would come over and look in on her.

She was a kind, complicated woman, an African-American widower of about sixty or so, and the kind of woman who claimed she was saved, and had the calluses on her knees to prove it.

Sometimes they'd stay up talking. Keller didn't understand half the things she'd talk about – exorcisms and menopause and Governor Dukakis and such – but she loved the richness of her voice, and its offbeat cadence. It was comforting and rare, and certainly gentle.

When Keller couldn't sleep, either at the beginning of the night or upon waking in the middle of it, Miss Adriel would brush her hand through her hair and sing. Old Negro spirituals mostly.

Sometimes the lyrics weren't conducive to putting little girls to sleep.

"Old Mister Satan he got mad / Missed that soul that he thought he had."

It never bothered her, though. The woman's hand, covered in coarse white lines indicative of a life spent earning something, just rubbed away the worry honest and true.

Keller tried to think of the song that used to work best.

But there were so many years between those memories and this moment. It was a sort of cerebral microphish, clicking through the endless months of images and sounds. And after a time, despite all the tangential things that came flooding back, she finally accepted that she wouldn't remember it.

She accepted another thing too: sleep wasn't coming, and the shadows weren't going.

She needed out of this room.

The covers were clumsily thrown off of her, and in an instant she was up off the bed, grabbing the pants she'd worn that day off the back of a chair, sliding them on, then slipping her feet into her boots and her body into a three-quarter sleeved shirt. She departed her room in haste.

At first, she didn't have any direction, just wandering the halls with a dim hope that if she walked far enough and long enough, she might calm herself the way Teyla calmed her son.

She got tired of that, though, and started for the infirmary, contemplating paperwork. That notion didn't last long either, though, and she pondered a snack or a soda in the commissary.

She thought she'd settled on that, and she thought that was the direction she was walking, but by the time she realized her geographical error, she was standing outside McKay's quarters.

As a medical doctor with an understanding of human psychology, it didn't surprise her.

As a human being harboring the hope that she could retain her dignity, it alarmed her.

There's nothing to be gained here, she thought. You already know he's not dead. Just dreams. He's in there sleeping, and here you are standing outside his quarters like a would-be voyeur.

But I'd like to know, she thought. Maybe it could help me sleep.

He'd like to sleep too, she thought. In fact, you were quite insistent, condescending even, about ordering him to.

He loves you, she thought. He'll be happy to see you.

Just… don't. She thought.

Her hand waved over the panel beside his door, and the chime sounded a moment later. Dignity's overrated.

He didn't answer. Five seconds became ten. Ten became twenty. Time to go. Turn around and walk back to your quarters and lay down and go to sleep like any functional adult would. Just leave him alone.

She waved her hand over the panel again.

This time, there was an audible rustling within the room. But still, no one came to the door.

He's trying to ignore you, she thought. Just leave. The poor man had a parasite ripped out of his head two days ago. Let him sleep. Her hands were jittery.

The doors parted, and there stood McKay, leaning against the frame, hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep. His scowl softened into what was still at best a neutral expression when he saw her.

"Jennifer?" he mumbled.

She smiled falsely, trying her best to sound cavalier in spite of the circumstance.

"Hey. I... wanted to check in on you. See how you were doing."

He blinked sleepily.

"What?"

"I wanted to check on you."

"Why?"

She cleared her throat.

"Just to make sure your head wasn't hurting or anything."

"Well, it _wasn't_," he replied curtly, "until you showed up like a North Korean interrogator in the middle of the night."

Her stomach sank into her knees. You're an idiot, Jennifer. What did you expect, waking him like this?

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm…" She smiled again, though her eyes were dark and shifty. "Sorry. You're right. You need your rest. I shouldn't have…"

She took a step back, starting to turn.

"Yeah, I'll just – "

McKay, a little more removed from sleep's valleys, finally took note of her skittish demeanor, of the way her hands were moving all over the place like his did when he was positing a theory. Her hair looked slightly disheveled, as he knew his own did, which meant that she'd been sleeping.

And that something had woken her up.

"No, no, no! It's fine," he said quickly.

She finished turning anyway, shaking her head.

"No, I'm sorry. Go back to bed."

McKay watched her take a few steps, the doctor resolved to leave, and he knew that if she kept walking, they'd never speak of this again. If the guilt didn't kill him, the curiosity would.

He reached out and caught her arm, stopping her.

"Jen, wait. Stop, it's – you're fine. Don't go," he said, sounding a little less sure of himself than he'd have liked.

She made no effort to move, but she didn't turn back for a moment, either to gather her thoughts or to plan a second escape. He let out a breath when she finally looked at him, and she bore no signs of a woman about to run.

Keller smiled faintly and with embarrassment, glancing down at his hand, which still grasped her forearm's exposed flesh. As soon as her eyes fell on the sight, he retracted it. Though not as quickly as he might have a few months ago.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Yes, well, apology accepted. Provided you plan on offering an explanation."

She struggled for what to say.

"It's nothing. It's stupid. I was sleeping, and I had – I woke up, and I got worried. That sounds a little pathetic, I know, but – "

"You had a nightmare?" he interrupted softly.

Keller paused. And she was surprised by the gentleness in his eyes. Not that he couldn't be that way, because he could, and he had been before, but she'd not been expecting it tonight. Not here in the hallway when she'd only just roused him.

She nodded.

He smiled awkwardly, rubbing his eyes.

"Was it bad?"

She nodded again, more mouthing than saying, "Yeah."

McKay looked away, thinking. The silence was long enough that she grew nervous once more, not at all certain how this would play out. How much opportunity would he give her to leave with her self-respect? It was up to him.

He gestured to the inside of his quarters with one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

"Um… would you – do you wanna – you can come in. If you want."

She loathed herself for the timid way she said, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. It's fine. I'm going to have to tidy up. See, I don't usually spend much time here," he said, leading her into his quarters, the doors shutting behind them. "Sorry about that. Let me just…"

He hurried over to his armchair, grabbing a pile of clothes and files and tossing them recklessly aside, sighing inwardly as he thought about having to collate the papers later.

"You wanna have a seat?"

Keller paused again, scanning his face tentatively.

"Are you sure this is okay? I can go."

McKay smiled winsomely.

"What, are you kidding?" he asked, mock-incredulous. "You woke me up in the middle of the night. You have to entertain me now."

Maybe it was the way he sounded genuinely comfortable with her being there, or the endearing way he tried to hide his compassion in a lazy joke, but she found herself smiling back in a way that reminded her of the person she remembered being.

And she was at ease enough a moment later to ask in jest, "Do you think we could just hug instead?"

McKay's eyes flashed with something, but he recovered quickly.

"Well, I… suppose that has its own inherent entertainment value. Meager as it may be."

Keller finally smiled again, letting out a silent laugh.

"Gee, thanks, Rodney. No wonder you've got the girls beating down your door."

"Just one, actually," he replied innocently.

She glanced away. It was obvious he was joking, but there was too much truth in it for her liking.

"Am I an idiot for being here?" she asked.

McKay shook his head quickly, fervently.

"No, you're not. Not at all. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I thought that would sound smooth. Should I not try to be smooth?"

She laughed again, this time audibly, and she stepped forward slowly, and folded her arms around him. His arms closed around her in kind.

And when her grip tightened considerably a moment later, so did his.

They stood there like that for a minute or so, and though he hadn't the faintest clue he was doing it, he was rocking her a little bit.

"It, uh… everything will be fine," he said softly. "Whatever it is."

She nodded against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was so calm. Here she was forcing a hug on him in the middle of the night, and his heart was beating perfectly. Was that love?

As he continued to hold her, she began to hear a faint whisper in her head. It was that favorite spiritual Miss Adriel sang, come back to mind only now, when she no longer needed it.

"My life flows on in endless song, above earth's lamentation," she could hear the old woman carol. "I hear the real, though far-off hymn, that hails the new creation."

Keller took off her boots at some point. Then some of her clothes. She couldn't remember which articles. But she did feel a lot of his skin on her skin as she finally drifted off.

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**FIN**

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End file.
